


give me snow and give me salt (up to the stars we’ll strain)

by clavicular



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Apocalypse, Bleak, F/F, Femslash February, Hopeful Ending, Maybe - Freeform, but - Freeform, ish
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-16
Updated: 2013-02-16
Packaged: 2017-11-29 11:50:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 534
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/686645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clavicular/pseuds/clavicular
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She thinks about Erica hating her, about hating Erica right back, and it doesn’t feel that long ago. Sometimes she shuts her eyes and imagines walking back into her old life, and it feels so close, so possible. She wonders if she and Erica would hate each other again. Useless daydreams.</p>
            </blockquote>





	give me snow and give me salt (up to the stars we’ll strain)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [vociferocity](https://archiveofourown.org/users/vociferocity/gifts).



They sleep in shifts. One of them is always on watch, perched on a windowsill or inside the entrance of whatever abandoned building they’re sheltering in. There are a lot of abandoned buildings, these days. They never fight over who’s turn it is, though Allison might have expected to. More often than not she appreciates the hours spent staring mindlessly into the darkness; it’s better than what she sees when she sleeps. Then again, maybe Erica feels that way too.

They don’t talk much. It’s too dangerous, and there’s never much to say.

They don’t stop moving. Allison’s not sure it keeps them safer, but they have to do something, and she prefers it to staying still. She’d hated moving as a child, could never forgive her parents for uprooting her as often as they did, but now it helps. Sentiment isn’t something she can afford but it feels… familiar. It helps. Erica needs it as well, Allison thinks, though she won’t say why. She’d spent her whole life in Beacon Hills, before, but afterwards… well. They’d left in the afternoon, not pausing to look back, and washed the blood off later.

She thinks about home, when Beacon Hills was home. She thinks about Erica hating her, about hating Erica right back, and it doesn’t feel that long ago. Sometimes she shuts her eyes and imagines walking back into her old life, and it feels so close, so possible. She wonders if she and Erica would hate each other again. Useless daydreams. 

She keeps her knives sharp, and her crossbow ready. They keep moving. 

Allison doesn’t keep track of where they’ve been; they’re not going anywhere, and it shouldn’t make a difference. She regrets it, though, when they find themselves in the town she’d lived in for most of sixth grade. She recognizes her old school. It looks almost like it hasn’t been touched.

The whole town is like that, really. Eerily quiet, but otherwise far from the worst place they’ve ever been. There are only a few bodies rotting in the streets, the houses mostly intact, and there are no immediate threats. It still leaves her shaking. 

They spend that night sitting on the floor behind the hotel reception desk, backs resting on the draws and filing cabinets. It’s not the most secure place they could stay, but it’s somewhere Allison’s never been, which matters more. Erica is playing with the office stationary, tearing fluorescent post-it notes into pieces and then stapling them together haphazardly. It’s pointless, but then, it’s not like it really counts as wasteful any more. She’s chewing her bottom lip and smiling. Allison picks at the worn carpet, studying the colors in the separating threads. 

“I wish I could hate you again,” she says, quietly. 

Erica looks at her, but Allison doesn’t have the energy to explain what she means. It’s too much, and some days she doesn’t even know why they’re doing this. She just wishes she had a reason for it, a reason for anything. She wishes they could hate each other. They can’t keep running forever.

Erica’s smile dims, but it’s still there. She puts down her stapler.

“Me too,” she says.

She takes Allison’s hand. 


End file.
